


Eldritch Bunker Crack: The Case of the Dryer Elf

by Dragonwithatale



Series: Eldritch Bunker Crack [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Eldritch Bunker - Freeform, Eldritch Creature Men of Letters Bunker, Gen, Sock Theft, set in the happy interlude between 13x22 and 13x23
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-26 06:07:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14994473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragonwithatale/pseuds/Dragonwithatale
Summary: Jack's socks have gone missing.  He suspects brownies.Set between 13x22 and 13x23





	Eldritch Bunker Crack: The Case of the Dryer Elf

Jack had settled into an easy pattern back at home; when Sam and Dean and the other hunters went to sleep, he’d make himself a mug of cocoa and spend half the night quietly researching, and the other half watching netflix. Sometimes Cas joined him; putting on documentaries was the best because Cas would start correcting them out of annoyance, and Jack would end up learning so much more about human history than even humans knew.

Tonight, though, his cocoa was cooling by his bed while he glared at the contents of his dresser.

He’d decided to be more responsible and learn to do his own laundry, so Sam and Dean didn’t have to. He’d gone on the internet and learned everything about washing machines and how to clean lint traps and wikihow had been very thorough about how to fold shirts properly.

But his socks were missing.

He’d checked everywhere. The Winchesters hadn’t mysteriously cleaned them and put them away, they weren’t in the laundry room, they weren’t in his hamper, they weren’t under his bed, they were just gone.

Google was less than helpful as to why or how this could happen. They didn’t go missing during the wash, or in the dryer. He didn’t have a cat or a ferret (though that might have to change), and there weren’t mice in the Bunker.

Obviously, this left one option.

There was something supernatural afoot.

The only question was, what supernatural creature only took socks?

After stuffing the rest of his clothing back in his drawers, Jack started his research. Google suggested gremlins at first, but there was no sign of those in the Bunker. It didn’t take long before he came to the only logical conclusion.

There were faeries in the Bunker. Brownies maybe. Or perhaps elves with an unnatural attraction to dryers and laundry.

Jack knew what he was hunting. It was time to find weapons.

 

* * *

 

 

He’d grabbed the salt and a shotgun at first, then put them back when he realized that Sam and Dean would not appreciate gunshots at three am. And there was also the problem that killing the intruders wouldn’t bring back his socks.

No, to do that he needed a trap. Which was why he was currently rigging a trap in front of the washing machine, with one of Dean’s socks placed carefully in the middle as bait. Sprinkled carefully around were the contents of several packs of craft glitter; if the brownie escaped, he’d be able to follow it anywhere.

(Why there was glitter in the Bunker is another story, but suffice to say that Jack had no idea that prank wars were a thing his uncles did for fun.)

Jack settled into the corner to wait.

And wait.

And his eyes may have drooped a little.

And he may have startled awake only to find that Dean’s sock was gone, and so was the glitter.

Brownies, he decided, were annoying.

 

* * *

 

 

He spent the next day carefully asking questions of the Winchesters. What kind of faeries are there? How do you track them? How do you get them to leave?

The answers were less than helpful, but Sam did have one tracking spell.

Jack waited until everyone was asleep again before he tried it. It didn’t work.

 

* * *

 

 

“Dryer elves?” Jack was almost certain that Cas was laughing at him. Silently. Behind the confusion.

“I can’t come up with a more reasonable assumption for why my socks are missing.”

“The warding is still intact, nothing else is missing.”

“Would the warding protect against something that was already inside? Like…” Jack paused. “Like if something came through the rift.”

“Inter-dimensional… dryer elves. That got past Rowena.”

“Or brownies.”

Cas sighed.

 

* * *

 

 

The second trap involved two hair dryers, glue, a thin iron chain, Dean’s wristwatch, three of Sam’s socks, and a saucer of milk. Neither Jack nor Cas took their eyes off of the bait, but somehow the socks still vanished somewhere around four am.

Cas swore quite vividly in Enochian (Jack tried to remember the words for later) and raced to the doorway. There was nothing there. He stalked back to the trap and crouched, glaring at the cement floor.

“There’s no trace of a creature. No dimensional rift, no magic, nothing.”

“So… what do we do?”

“We build a better trap.”

 

* * *

 

 

When Dean stumbled into the kitchen and found them, Cas had Mary’s slippers in one hand, an old army helmet perched on his head, a large bottle of lube tucked under his other arm, and he was sorting through a pile of silverware. Jack had half the contents of the liquor cabinet and was wearing a blanket like a cape.

Sam was sitting at the table, blankly nursing a coffee.

“Uh… guys?”

Sam shrugged.

Cas barely looked up from choosing between a silver spoon and a fork. “We’re on a hunt.”

“We’re hunting for brownies.”

Dean blinked. “What does chocolate have to do with all of,” he waved at the table, “that.”

“Dean,” Sam groaned, “Don’t tease them, and don’t encourage them. We don’t have brownies.”

“Dude, where have you been.”

“Since when have brownies been real.”

“Since always.” He turned back to the hunting party. “Why are you going after them?”

“We have brownies?”

“Yes, Sam, we have brownies, where have you been?”

“Since when?”

“Since always? They were here first, why did you think this place had no dust when we moved in.”

“Because—“

Cas interrupted him. “Why didn’t you mention this, Dean?”

“Because you don’t talk about them if you want them to keep cleaning,” Dean muttered, “which we’ve now jinxed. But Cas, they’re harmless. They clean and they fix things, and if you piss em off they’ll do weird shit—“

Sam looked up from his coffee, “Is that why my shampoo—“

“Yes, Sam, and please never leave trash there again — but they’re harmless.”

Cas’ voice was bitterly cold, and he was fondling a butter knife in a way that made Dean a little nervous. “You have a potentially hostile group of Fae living in the Bunker for years and didn’t think it was important to mention?”

Dean shrugged, shuffling back a bit. “I thought you could tell they were here. Angel thing.”

“Obviously not.”

“I promise, you don’t need to hunt them, guys. Just keep a decent distance and everything will go back to a functioning house we don’t have to vacuum in a few days.”

“But they took my socks.”

Both Winchesters stared blankly at him.

“Did you… see them take your socks?” Dean asked.

“No. They were all missing two nights ago, and then I did research and made a trap with one of your socks, and that went missing too.”

“And then three more of Sam’s vanished while we were watching,” Cas said.

“Vanished with no trace,” Sam said, sitting back, “no sound, nothing. Right?”

Cas glanced warily between him and a chuckling Dean. “Yes.”

“Bermuda?” Sam asked.

“Bermuda.” Dean motioned for the hunting party to follow him. “Come with me. And leave… whatever that stuff is.”

 

* * *

 

 

The door Dean led them to had not been there before.

“If something goes missing, you’ll probably find it in here. Unless the reason it’s missing is that Sam took it, in which case it’s probably under his bed.” He opened the door; the room inside was small and empty, except for one sock sitting just inside the door. “See? Bermuda triangle strikes again.”

“Dean, what the fuck,” Cas growled.

“We have no idea.” He pocketed the sock and closed the door before motioning for Jack to try. “Sam and I both found the door separately our first month here, but it doesn’t take things that often.”

There was a tidy pile of white socks on the other side of the door, folded and clean. Jack reached for them, then paused. “They’re not… hexed or anything, right?”

“They’re fine.”

“You can’t prove that if you don’t know why it takes them.”

“Cas, haven’t you ever noticed that the hallways change? This place is weird, and it’s either something the Men of Letters did or it’s the reason they build the Bunker here.”

“Your reason for saying the socks are safe is that the entirety of your house is dangerous.”

“I need more coffee for this. Jack, you got everything?”

“Yes, they’re all here” He’d stuffed a few into his pockets and had wrapped the rest in his blanket-cape.

“Awesome. I want pancakes.”

Jack lingered while Cas trailed after Dean, doing his best impression of a storm cloud. He rested one hand on the door. “Can I have Sam’s socks too?” he whispered. He cracked the door open.

Sam’s sock drawer sat innocently inside, with the three bait socks laid neatly on top.

Jack had no idea how he was getting everything back upstairs.


End file.
